


I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours

by nottoolateforthegame



Series: 31 Days of Porn 2017 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bed Humping, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sherlock's Deduction Face, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottoolateforthegame/pseuds/nottoolateforthegame
Summary: Sherlock just has to know-what does John's O-face look like?





	1. Cover for I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Marked non-con for somnophilia. It's all fine for John, though.
> 
> Response to [AtlinMerricks](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/159721211399/porn-challenge-2017-any-fandom-any-length-of) [31 Days of Porn Challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017). This is for #13-Somnophilia.


	2. Cover for I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours

Sherlock held his breath as he slid the door open. His heart raced, his hands were sweating. He couldn’t remember having ever felt so nervous in his life. This was, definitively, the most dangerous, most stupid thing he’d ever done. He knew it was wrong. He knew the consequences if he were caught would be devastating. _More than a bit not good_ John’s voice drifted from his mind palace. But he couldn’t resist. He had to do this. He had to know.  

He slipped through the doorway, pausing once inside to listen carefully. The room was lit only by the moonlight filtering through the curtains, the full moon casting a soft glow throughout the space. A soft snoring sound could be heard from the corner, where John was slumbering in bed. As Sherlock’s eyes adjusted to the light in the room, he could make out John’s sprawled form, clad in only boxers, one arm flung above his head, which was tilted away from Sherlock, towards the wall, exposing his neck.

Sherlock took a moment to take in the sight of so much bare skin all at once, most of it previously only glimpsed or hinted at in flashes, a peek of clavicle exposed when wearing his robe after a shower, a flash of shoulder when cleaning a wound in the mirror caught as Sherlock passed the bathroom doorway, lower stomach exposed when his shirt caught on a fence post while chasing a suspect…

John shifted in his sleep, and Sherlock was brought back to the task at hand. He started across the room, telling himself to stop worrying. He could do this. He wouldn't get caught. Then he could get this (particular) stupid obsession out of his head and go back to obsessing in general. He just had to do this-and then he could move past the _need to know_ that had settled so deeply in his mind that he couldn’t think around it. He ignored the scoffing voice, suspiciously Mycroftian, that reminded him he was an addict, warned him that one small glimpse would never be enough.

He stood next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of John's chest. He could do this. He just had to provide a little stimulation, and John's body would take over. John was a very sexual creature. Surely once the idea was planted, his subconscious would take over, and Sherlock could just sit back and observe. Observing wasn't such a horrible thing to do, was it?

Sherlock knelt next to the bed. Carefully, oh so carefully, he brought his left hand up to John's chest, resting there for a moment, just feeling the texture and heat of his skin before sliding with purpose to his right nipple. He thumbed across it a few times, watching as it started to pebble before rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Sherlock’s own ( _sensitive_ ) nipples began to harden in sympathy, aching little points that attempted to distract him from the task at hand. He breathed deeply and ignored his trasport, refusing to lose focus.

After a few moments, he realized John was going to need more coaxing, so he let his hand drift, just skimming down, a whispering caress against John's ribs, then abs, stopping to circle his bellybutton before settling again, just above the waistband of his boxers. His gaze was drawn from the trail of goosebumps left in his wake as John's breath hitched and his hips shifted. Sherlock sat back with a smirk. John was obviously responding to the stimulus. Now all he had to do was wait and watch.

But Sherlock's satisfaction was short lived. Moments after he removed his hand, John let out a deep sigh and his whole body relaxed deeper into the bed. If anything, he seemed to be settling deeper into sleep.

Sherlock frowned. Well. That wouldn't do. He leaned forward again, hand settling against John's lower abdomen while he watched for a reaction. He couldn't help but notice that though John was very fit, he was just a bit soft here. There were definitely hard, well earned muscles, but a softer layer was settled over them. _Wonder what it would feel like to rest my face there?_ Sherlock was startled by the seemingly random question as it whispered across his mind.

He drew a breath and leaned back, realizing he had unintentionally leaned forward. He glanced up at John’s face, watching for signs of waking as he slid his hand down over the boxers, cupping John’s cock through the well worn material. He inhaled sharply at the contact, momentarily frozen in a state of anxious anticipation as his wandering hand confirmed his previous deductions about John's generous proportions in this area.

Before he could decide what to do next, John's penis began to fill out, swelling against Sherlock's hand as if his touch had wakened just this part of John. He felt a twitching response in his own pants but chose to ignore it. Transport. Not important. He was here with one goal in mind. See John Watson's O-face.

He had been unable to shake the thought from his mind since they’d left the bar earlier, having decided not to stick around while the Yarders played a round of Faking It. Once Donovan had explained the game to them, John and he had only needed to share the briefest of looks before standing to leave. Neither was interested on seeing any of the Yarders competing to give the best fake orgasm. It had been Dimmock’s drunk, loud-whisper comment to a beat officer as they passed that caught his attention... _seen his O-face. Its fuckin’ intense. Probably make us all cum in our pants if he stayed and played..._

He didn’t hear anything further, as a buzzing had started in his ears. Dimmock certainly wasn’t talking about him. Therefore, logic dictated he was talking about John. Dimmock had seen what John looked like when he was experiencing orgasm... _a_ _nd Sherlock had not_. A tight, painful feeling flitted across his chest as he considered the implications. Any time someone suggested the two of them might be a couple, John quickly made sure they knew they weren’t. He frequently felt the need to tell others he was not gay, and had only ever dated or had sex with women since moving in with Sherlock.  How Dimmock could have seen John like this when he himself never had-that didn't bear thinking about. _That_ thought, the idea that Dimmock, whom he had been unaware knew John in any capacity beyond bumping into one another on the occasional case, had accessed a part of John that he hadn't, well that thought had settled into his mind and wouldn't let go.

John shifted again, hips rolling up to grind his erection against Sherlock's palm. Giving into impulse, telling himself it was necessary to get John going, he squeezed carefully and slid his hand down and back up a few times, giving friction to John's lazy thrusts before sitting back on his heels.

John made a low sound in his throat, a drawn out hmmm that seemed to ricochet through Sherlock's body straight to his cock. He couldn't hold back the whimper that rose in his throat, freezing him in place as his eyes flashed to John's face. But John slept on, even as his hips sought contact. After a few luckless thrusts, he settled back down, cock still hard but hips still.

Sherlock breathed deeply and stifled a groan. John’s arousal was beginning to permeate the air, and his scent only added to the low heat burning through Sherlock's groin. He needed to get a grip. He was going to ruin this before John finished if he didn't maintain control over his transport.

He closed his eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, focusing on taking slow, steady breaths in through his mouth, to avoid taking in the scent of John as much as possible.

When his heart had slowed and he felt in control once again, he leaned forward and slid his hand under the band of John's boxers and lifted, pulling them down far enough to tuck the band under John's balls, holding the fabric in place, out of the way.

His mouth watered at the sight before him. John, laid ( _mostly_ ) bare, aroused, his freed cock rising to rest against his belly, long and slightly thicker than average, pink with a dusky rose head that just peeked out of his foreskin.

Sherlock licked his lips. He could...NO! He thrust the idea from his mind. There was no way John would sleep through Sherlock fellating him, particularly since Sherlock would be unable to hold back his own sounds of pleasure. Besides, it would be more difficult to watch John's face while he orgasmed if Sherlock knelt over his lap to suck his cock.

He palmed the tip of John's penis, gathering what pre-ejaculate he could. It was John's turn to whimper as Sherlock circled his palm against the head of his penis, fingers curling around the tip to push the foreskin back a bit. Realizing it wasn't enough to provide a smooth glide, he added his spit to his palm before taking John in hand again.

John soughed a low groan, hips immediately returning to thrusting. Sherlock was torn between watching John's hot, hard cock sliding through his hand and watching John's face, which had fallen into an expression of lazy pleasure, mouth open, forehead and eyes completely relaxed.

John began to stir, and Sherlock froze in place. Rather than waking, though, it seemed he was going to (finally!) take things in hand and begin pleasuring himself. His hands drifted across his chest, thumbing his nipples briefly, just long enough for Sherlock's own nipples to twinge a reminder that they wanted attention. He hissed a breath, almost disappointed when John's hands began to drift further down.

John's left hand drifted lazily up and down his side, skimming over his obliques and lower abs in a slow rhythm that made Sherlock ache to feel the same touch against his own flesh. And then his legs fell open wider as his other hand began to stroke the inside of his thigh, up and down, then forward towards his hip before sliding down and in, fingertips ghosting over his balls and perineum.

Sherlock watched, entranced by the visual input. Unknowingly, his hand had loosened slightly and slowed around John’s cock, imitating the slow, sensual slide of John's own hands. His hips began to thrust in tandem to the pattern against the side of John's mattress. He became lost in the rhythm, his own breathing coming out in long ragged breaths, his eyes dropping to half mast, his mouth falling open as he lost himself in the slow, steady pace. When John murmured something that sounded like _that's it, yeah_ Sherlock snapped back to the moment.

Shit! He wasn't supposed to be helping, much less participating! Stimulus and observation. Watch John's face when he ejaculated. That was the goal.

He released John's prick, but froze in place when John's hand suddenly captured his own as his other arm shot out to circle Sherlock's waist. Eyes wide, heart pounding like a jackhammer, Sherlock raised his face to find John watching him, face inscrutable. He could do nothing but stare, wide eyed at John, panic building. 

John’s face softened.

“Shh...s’okay.” his words slipped out, still suffused with sleep. “‘M’ere” his arms tugged Sherlock gently forward, and somehow, Sherlock found himself being manhandled onto the bed next to John.

They lay there, staring at each other, John’s face slowly losing its sleepy softness. Sherlock forced himself to calm, reigning in his emotions in a tight grasp, desperately searching his mind for a way to convince John that his was nothing, that it was just a misunderstanding, that-

“Really i’s okay.” John’s soft murmur interrupted his thoughts. He watched Sherlock, clearly waiting for a response.

“I just needed to _know_!” Sherlock blurted, breaking the quiet.

“Know what?” John’s voice was still low, calm.

“Dimmock knows!” here he glared at John. “How is it that he knows anyway?! You’re not gay!” Sherlock felt a bit more himself as he released some of the pent up disbelief and anger he’d been holding onto all night.

“Knows what?”

“Your O-face! Dimmock knows what it looks like when you cum!”

“The hell he does!” John was fully awake now, frowning, body tensing. “Unless they planted cameras in here on the last drugs bust, there’s no way in hell Dimmock knows what I look like when I-”

“Then why would he say he did?! I clearly heard him tell the new bobby that he’d seen it. He said if you stayed to play, you’d make everyone come in their pants!”

“Look, I don’t know why-” John cut himself off, then snickered. “Wait-yes I do. He wasn’t talking about me, you nutter! He was talking about you!” John began giggling.

Sherlock frowned. “Nope. I can assure you _no one_ has ever seen me...do that.” he trailed off and swallowed, looking away. That had been more than he ever meant to reveal.

“No one?” John’s voice, when it broke the heavy silence was soft, his hand coming up to stroke Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock shrugged it off, pulling his indignation tight, cutting off the weaker emotions that threatened.

“So clearly, he wasn’t talking about me.”

“Yes, he was.”

“How-?!”

“Look. I heard him mention it last time we were all out. Think he’s got a bit of a thing for you. He certainly seems to talk about it often enough.” the last was growled out. “He’s talking about the face you make when you’ve solved a case.”

“But-”

“Its very...suggestive.”

“Suggestive?”

“Mmm-hmm…”

“So you didn’t have sex with Dimmock?”

“Christ, no.”

Sherlock couldn’t understand how he could be both incredibly relieved and deeply disappointed at the same time.

“You okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You just looked a bit lost there for a mo’.”

“I am merely relieved to learn that you haven’t been shagging your way through the Yard.”

“Mmm...Still wanna know?”

Sherlock stilled. Surely John couldn’t mean…?

Then John leaned forward, hand cupping Sherlock’s jaw, tilting his head, leaning in to breath against his ear. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://nottoolateforthegame.tumblr.com/)


End file.
